VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The Lightweight Division this week feels as if it’s vibrating. Every day brings another headline, another shift, another announcement pushing the entire weight class toward something bigger, louder, and more unstable.

And today’s papers are the loudest yet. On Nakahara’s desk, the bold top headline declares:

YANAGIMOTO’S FIRST TITLE DEFENSE — SEPT 24, UTSUNOMIYA CITY GYMNASIUM

A full spread shows Shinichi Yanagimoto ofTachibana Boxing Gym posing stiffly with the belt across his shoulder, and beside him, the challenger, Ranked No.1 Hisashi Murai of Kanuma Sei’un Boxing Gym, arms crossed, jaw set.

The article calls it “A Test of Legitimacy”, noting that the fight will take place in the Champion’s hometown, in Utsunomiya’s old concrete arena.

Nakahara scans the lines again, absorbing what the division will look like after September. Whoever wins that fight becomes the man Ryoma will eventually have to chase.

He exhales through his nose and turns the page. And there, another headline jumps out immediately.

TOKYO SHOWDOWN: SUGANO vs SHIMAMURA — SEPT 6th

Only two weeks before the title defense.

The newspaper calls it “The Battle for Tokyo’s No.1”, a settlement of unfinished business now that Renji has gone overseas.

The photos are dramatic; Sugano Junichiro steady and composed, Shimamura Suzuki with that same crooked, reckless grin that used to irritate Nakahara during training.

Nakahara’s eyes linger on Shimamura’s picture a second too long. It’s the very disciple he put his hope when Ryoma hadn’t had his pro license.

It’s the man with talent sharp enough to cut glass, and discipline thin as tissue paper, a man he threw out after too many swagger.

And now Shimamura’s headlining a Tokyo rivalry bout, just two steps away from becoming the face of the city’s lightweight scene.

Nakahara mutters under his breath, almost to himself, “Climbing fast, aren’t you…? Idiot.”

Shimamura’s older than Ryoma. But his career shows so much progress only after he left Nakahara’s gym. So of course, it hits the old man’s inferiority complex hard.

Nakahara folds the paper, sets it down, and pushes a hand through his hair.

The division is rearranging itself in real time. And Ryoma still doesn’t have an opponent for August. Every day without an answer tightens the noose around Nakahara’s chest.

But then, the phone rings, sharp and sudden.

Nakahara jolts upright, his pulse thudding once, heavy. He’s been waiting for this, days of waiting actually.

He snatches the receiver swiftly. “Moshi-moshi. Nakahara speaking.”

A calm Kansai-accented voice replies:

[Coach Nakahara, this is Toshihiko Kurose, from Kurose Boxing Club in Okayama.]

Nakahara sits straighter. “Yes, Kurose-san. Thank you for calling back.”

[We’ve reached a decision. Regarding Masuda Kokushi vs. Ryoma Takeda. Our side accepts your offer.]

A weight slips off Nakahara’s shoulders. His fingers loosen around the receiver.

[For confirmation the purse is 700,000 yen, right?]

“Yes,” Nakahara answers immediately. “Seven hundred. And the planned date is mid-August. NSN will handle broadcast on our end.”

A low honest laugh hums through the line.

[Good. Then it’s settled. I think this will be a strong event for both sides. Kokushi needs a real fight, and your boy looks hungry.]

Nakahara allows himself the faintest smile. “I look forward to it, Kurose-san.”

[As do we. We’ll await the contract.]

The call ends. And for the first time this week, Nakahara feels the ground under his feet steady.

***

After a few seconds, he moves toward the office door and looks out into the gym, scanning the room until his eyes land on Ryoma.

The kid is working through his pendulum steps again, with Sera supervising carefully. When the drill ends and Ryoma switches to shadowboxing in the resistance suit after a short break, Nakahara leaves the office.

“Hiroshi, come here for a second.”

“On it,” Hiroshi says as he steps away from Okabe. “What is it, Coach?”

“I want to adjust Ryoma’s training.” Nakahara approaches and gestures for Ryoma. “Kid, listen for a moment. Your next opponent has been decided. Ranked fifth, Toshihiko Kurose, from Kurose Boxing Club.”

Ryoma’s expression remains even. “Have you decided the schedule yet?”

“Mid-August,” Nakahara says. “And considering Kurose’s fighting style, we need to make some changes. He’s aggressive, big on body shots. He plants his feet, doesn’t move much, but he’s strong and built to pour in the punishment.”

Ryoma lifts one eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

“So,” Nakahara says, “I’m planning to sacrifice a bit of your footwork. Not a lot, just enough to strengthen your lower body so you can handle exchanges without losing mobility. You’ll stay light, but sturdier.”

He then turns to Hiroshi. “And I want more muscle on his core and obliques. Functional strength, nothing excessive. Can you handle that in a month?”

Hiroshi considers it briefly, then nods. “It’s doable.”

“Good,” Nakahara says, exhaling. “We’ll use the final month to help him adapt to the new build. Don’t overdo it. I don’t want his footwork ruined.”

Hiroshi nods once, taking everything in.

Ryoma wipes sweat from his chin. “What about Aramaki?”

Nakahara glances toward the far corner where Aramaki is doing mitt work with Kenta. His eyes soften with a mix of frustration and guilt.

“I still can’t find a suitable opponent for him. Now I’m considering visiting his old gym.”

Ryoma frowns. “You’re going to pick a fight with them?”

“Not a fight,” Nakahara says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m going to ask for help. Their conflict with Aramaki was mostly a misunderstanding. And now that we’re trying to take a big step forward, I’m thinking of helping their gym get some exposure too.”

Ryoma lets out a dry chuckle. “Coach… you think about other people too much. One day that soft side of yours is going to sink the whole ship.”

Nakahara ignores him and turns away. “Just start your training. Don’t go easy on him, Hiroshi.”

Ryoma moves as if to restart the drill, but Hiroshi stops him with a raised hand.

“Hold on,” Hiroshi says. “Since Coach wants your lower body reinforced, we’re starting immediately. Go to the plyo box. We’ll begin with weighted jumps.”

Ryoma straps on the ankle weights without complaint.

He steps onto the box, drops off, lands deep, resets, and jumps again, each repetition tightening the muscles along his calves and thighs.

Hiroshi counts with a calm but merciless rhythm, pushing him through set after set until Ryoma’s legs start trembling beneath the sweat-soaked resistance suit.

“Good,” Hiroshi says. “Now sled push.”

They move to the turf strip. Ryoma grips the sled, heavily loaded, and drives it forward in long, controlled strides.

Each step grinds into the floor, legs burning, breath turning ragged. Hiroshi keeps pace beside him, offering corrections when Ryoma’s form falters by even a fraction.

When the set ends, Ryoma is breathing hard, hands on his knees.

“Don’t rest,” Hiroshi says. “Core next.”

Ryoma lies on the mat while Hiroshi places a medicine ball in his hands and calls out a series of twists, raises, and transfers. Sweat drops steadily onto the floor.

Then they switch to stability work centered on the obliques, forcing Ryoma to lock every muscle in place while resisting pressure from multiple angles.

The strain deepens, sharp and unforgiving. Ryoma grits his teeth but never asks to slow down.

Finally, after giving Ryoma an hour of break…

“Time for endurance,” Hiroshi says. “Okabe, get in the ring. Gloves on.”

Okabe jogs over. “Sparring?”

“No,” Hiroshi says. “Body shots. On Ryoma.”

Okabe blinks. “…On Ryoma?”

Ryoma has already moved to the corner, leaning back against the post with his arms relaxed above the ropes, exposing his torso.

“Just get it done, Okabe.”

Realization slowly blooms across Okabe’s face, followed by a dangerous grin.

“So I can just… hit him? And he can’t hit back?”

“Nonstop. And controlled,” Hiroshi says.

“Say no more,” Okabe beams, getting prepared.

And then…

“Ready?”

He unloads the first barrage with way too much joy, each thud echoing through the gym as Ryoma absorbs it without flinching.

Thud! Thud!

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

As his grin spreads, Ryoma’s face twitches with annoyance.

Go on. Enjoy it. I’ll pay you back twice in sparring session.

And Okabe just keeps laughing, delighted.

“This drill is fantastic.”